


Flashing Lights

by onlywordsnow



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7008523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlywordsnow/pseuds/onlywordsnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been reading a lot of Blind Items for fun lately and because I'm nosy and love gossip. So, after reading a few of these, I had an idea to write something about it. The format of this will be first the blind item, then the events leading up to what happened for the blind item to come out.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a lot of Blind Items for fun lately and because I'm nosy and love gossip. So, after reading a few of these, I had an idea to write something about it. The format of this will be first the blind item, then the events leading up to what happened for the blind item to come out.

_This A list athlete has reportedly dumped his long time A list television actress significant other. She’s said to have countless affairs behind his back. That may be why he’s never mentioned her name and marriage in the same sentence. It seems he has his eye on a B- list mostly movie actress rumored to be up for her first Academy Award this year. Funny thing is, they just met for the first time this weekend._

 

 

The paparazzi have been standing outside of his apartment building with cameras since the break up hit the tabloids last week. He’d been named most eligible bachelor by some magazine at daybreak and now the camera wielding professional stalkers have just been trying to catch him with his pants down. He’s been gearing up for spring training, held up in his apartment with a few bottles of scotch while studying his new teammates acquired from the draft. He’d also managed to acquire Scottie’s issue of Vogue from the bathroom with that feisty redhead on the cover in the breakup. 

He’d read the article one afternoon while locked in the bathroom, trying to get some peace and quiet from Scottie reciting lines with her costar in the living room. A costar he was fairly certain she was also having sex with. He was more frustrated that Scottie didn’t understand morals and loyalty than anything. He was really done with all of her shit. And it was that feisty redhead’s interview that really put things into perspective for him. 

Not to mention, he felt completely refreshed upon seeing his name coming out of her mouth in the article. He had felt his confidence bulk up, the heaviness in his chest that had been there since Marcus was in that car accident fleeting. The sudden rejuvenation of his spirits would be attributed entirely to her, even if he’d never get to thank her in person. 

He even manages a few genuine smiles at the flashing lights from all of the pictures being taken of him as he exits his apartment building, strap of his duffle bag over his shoulder and sunglasses covering his eyes. The paps seem to multiply by the time the doors to his apartment building slide shut behind him and he throws them a half-hearted wave. Despite his better judgment, he’s drawn to the few fans waiting for autographs amidst the crowd anyway. 

‘Mister Specter’ is repeated a few times like echoes and he can’t catch any of the questions that follow. A little boy, couldn’t be older than 6 or 7, flashes him a smile with a baseball glove clearly too big for his little hand. He leans down to the little boy’s height, crouching to make their eyes more level. 

“Hey,” he greets softly, “What’s your name?” 

“Mike,” the little boy answers, suddenly swinging his torso around as if he’s shy. The little boy’s father, a reporter who seems to be more mellow than usual, drops a hand to the boy’s shoulder. “Are you Harvey Specter?” 

“That’s right, Kid,” he answers with a firm nod, “You play baseball?” 

The kid nods aggressively like he doesn’t quite have control over his neck. Harvey smirks at the movement, still not totally accustomed to being around children. He hasn’t been around any children since Marcus was one. He did his best to avoid Scottie’s niece and nephews. 

“Keep at it, eat all your fruits and vegetables, and one day you’ll be the best in major league baseball,” he says, sternly. He nods firmly and stands upright. He shifts his gaze to his dad. “I’ll catch you next time.” 

“Of course,” the reporter replies, flashing him a smile. 

He turns on his heel and makes for his car, already running a little late for practice. He’s been waiting for opening day for months and he can’t even arrive to practice on time. He shouldn’t have spent that hour watching old interviews of that feisty redhead on YouTube.

-

He rolls his shoulder as he returns to his position on the mound. He drops both arms to his side and kicks at the dirt. Red dirt catches in the light wind and gathers around his ankles where his pants are bunching up. 

Red dirt.

Red. 

He has found himself standing on a red dirt mound for the majority of his life and he never once been distracted by the color of the clay. He pictures her laughing. She has a genuine laugh. She presses her palms together and throws her body forward like she's just heard the funniest thing she's ever heard in her entire life. He bends down and scoops up a chunk of the red dirt. He squeezes it between his thumb and index finger, the red dirt smearing over his fingertips. 

He sighs, picturing her hair getting caught in the wind and floating behind her. He's never even met her but he can't stop thinking about her. He stands upright again and squeezes the baseball between his fingers. 

Maybe he could try a new pitch? 

He leans back on his heel and launches forward, releasing the ball from his grasp and sending it into the center of the catcher's mitt. He expels a heavy breath and immediately sucks one back into his lungs, arching his back forward and stretching before straightening his back. He lifts his free hand and wipes the sweat from his brow. 

He lifts his glove to catch the ball in return. Once catching the ball, he turns to repeat the process. He tries not think about that feisty redhead, Donna Paulsen, for the rest of practice. 

-

Ever since her younger sister had her baby a few months ago, Donna has been thinking about her own future. She doesn't plan on stepping away from acting any time soon, but she's been encouraged (repeatedly) by her mother to give the idea of grandchildren some thought. She's given it some thought over the years. What kind of man is the kind of man she would like to spend her with? Does she want a man in show business or someone not even famous at all? Does she even want children? 

The entire situation has prompted her to think about a lot of things, and one thing she's learned over the years is to be prepared for the endless sexist questions. What are you wearing? Are you dating anyone? Is it serious? When are you having children? She has learned to have the answers to the questions prepared. 

She was 100% unprepared to answer what she was looking for in a man. Instead of opening her mouth and giving a description, she opened her mouth and a name fell out. She hadn't meant to say a name, especially to a news source as prestigious as Vogue, but now that moment is forever imprinted in writing. She's mulled over the slip up for almost a month now, since the issue was printed and hit the stands. Harvey Specter isn't even a man she's met beyond news articles and ESPN replays her ex-boyfriends have forced her to sit through. 

She covers her eyes with her left hand and closes the magazine before throwing herself back onto her bed. She barely even has a second to kick herself and wallow in peace (for the umpteenth time) before there is a heavy knock on the door that echoes throughout her trailer. She groans and kicks her ugly, sand colored boots together. She's two weeks into filming some desert biopic that's taking everything out of her already. 

"Donna! They need you on set," calls a woman. It's probably Katrina, one of the P.A.s the director always sends to bring her back to filming. The director is one that she's worked with before. He's a bit of a sleezeball, but an absolute visionary. 

"I'll be right there," she yells in response. 

She releases a deep sigh and pushes herself off of the mattress. She isn't normally one to spend much time alone in her trailer, but since her major brain malfunction she has been wallowing in her self pity. She opens her trailer door to see Katrina still standing there. 

"You alright?" Katrina greets. 

"I'm fine," Donna immediately replies, a tight yet gracious smile spreading over her mouth, "Thanks. I'm just..." 

"You're doing great," Katrina says reassuringly. 

She doesn't feel great. In fact, she feels quite foolish. And her foolishness is bared for the entire world to see.

-

Sounds from the saxophone bounce against various noises in the room. The soft hum of voices, glasses clinking against surfaces, and endless laughter collides the the soothing melodic rhythm of the music in a warm welcoming. The busy bar drowns out his thoughts, everything his been burying over the last couple of weeks, as he looks over at Jessica. She smiles, her lips upturned in pride. 

She always looks proud when listening to his father playing his saxophone. His mother had been quite different. He noticed when he was a young boy that she had appeared ashamed, like she was disgusted by his success when she was sleeping around behind his back. Jessica has never looked like that, not in the 20 years she has been married to his father. She was the best mother he could have asked for. 

"He's still got it," she tells him loudly. He nods slowly and takes a sip of his scotch. Despite the busyness of the bar, no one has seemed to recognize them in the low light, a fact that he's unexpectedly grateful for. "He's the best I've ever heard." 

"I wish Marcus would appreciate his music more," Harvey muses.

"He beats to his own drum," Jessica replies with a smirk. She leans her arms onto the table and gives him a hardened look. She arches an eyebrow, her smiles still present. He knows she's still threatening, shouldn't be taken lightly for a second. "We both know you relate to that sentiment." 

"What do you mean?" He asks, confused, slightly offended. 

"Dana Scott," she simply replies. He sighs heavily there, his shoulders suddenly feeling tense. She's been telling him for years to drop the dead weight, and she was right. He deserves better than an off and on relationship with a few meaningless flings scattered in between. He should have broken up with her for good a long time ago. "She all moved out?" 

"She never moved in," he says, taking another swig of his drink, "She was never a permanent fixture.” 

“You deserve someone who sees you as you actually are,” Jessica says. 

He sinks further into his chair as his father’s set comes to a close. He shrugs instinctively as the music fades and the room erupts into polite celebration. He shifts his gaze back over to Jessica and sees her clapping along while watching his father adoringly. He wonders if he’ll ever look at someone like that. 

He watches as Jessica greets his father, standing to her feet in her tall heels and offering him a kiss with welcoming arms. They got married when he was 10, after his father had caught his mother cheating and kicked her out. It took a few months, but his father finally picked himself up by the bootstraps and moved on. Jessica is practically the only mother Marcus has ever known and better than Harvey could have ever imaged. She couldn’t have children of her own, but she welcomed him and Marcus without hesitation. 

He thinks his father loved her more for that. 

“Perfect as always, My Love,” Jessica says just loud enough for Harvey to overhear. 

“All because I knew you were listening,” Gordon replies with a sincere grin. Jessica returns to her seat. Harvey watches his father push her chair closer to the table before Gordon gestures to a waitress to have the normal. Gordon plays at this bar twice a week and the entire staff knows their order by now. Gordon settles into the chair between him and Jessica, fully turning his attention to Harvey. “And what did you think, Son?” 

“I don’t think you’ve ever missed a note,” he muses. 

“Oh, Son, I’ve missed plenty of notes,” Gordon replies, “The key is not to wallow in the mistake and push through it.” 

He lifts his glass to take another drink. He gently sets the glass back down on the table. His father’s hand reaches over and squeezes his forearm. The waitress brings Gordon over his drink and his father takes a quick swig. Harvey offers him a small smile that he hopes is convincing.

Surely no one thinks he’s wallowing over Scottie. He was never really that serious about her. She’s been around since college, and she was always a good distraction from all of the other things in his life, but she’s never really been a steady fixture in his life. They’ve had such an unstable relationship and they’ve seen plenty of other people throughout the years. He wouldn’t waste his time wallowing about her. 

“I’m fine, Dad,” Harvey reassures. 

“She was never right for you,” Gordon says. 

“I think we can all agree on that one,” Jessica adds snarkily, crossing one leg over the other and leaning heavily against the table. 

“I have to go,” Harvey says with a smirk. He downs the last of his drink and pushes himself to his feet. He pays his father on the shoulder, letting his hand linger as Harvey rounds the table behind him to get to Jessica. He leans down and presses a kiss to Jessica's cheek. "Don't stay out too late, you two." 

They never really liked Scottie. In hindsight, he doesn't think he ever really liked her either. 

-

She looks at her reflection in the mirror. She looks...darker than normal. Her pale, freckled skin has the slightest tinge of a tan that compliments her navy blue dress. The dress stops just above her knees and she's finally riddled herself of those god awful boots. She'd much rather walk around in a pair of tall heels. Those boots have really been hurting her feet. 

Her hair and make up team left 15 minutes ago, and their handy work is incredible. Her hair is slightly curled into ringlets that brush over her her neckline. The silver heels give her a little bit of edge, topping off her entire appearance and making her just a hair taller. 

She's less than prepared to host a party. She's only been back in the states for 14 hours, and she barely got in a nap. She's been filming for the last 3 weeks and hasn't even seen her sky high apartment since a few days before then. 

The first knock on the door demands her to rip her attention away from her reflection. The door pushes open before she can even exit her bedroom and Rachel comes tearing in. Thankfully, Rachel has agreed to play primary host tonight. 

"Rachel," she calls, owning her arms and heading towards her best friend, "You're truly an angel." 

"Stop it," Rachel says, a smile spreading across her mouth. She places a few bags on the counter before a gentleman can follow her trail with even more bags. She smiles her thanks to the dark haired man. "You deserve a big birthday bash. And I love you." 

"I love you." Donna practically sings in return, "And who is this?" 

"This is Logan," Rachel introduces, gesturing to the man beside her, "And this is that amazing woman I told you about." 

"Stop it," Donna says now, "Are you two...?" 

"What?" Rachel asks with a laugh. 

"Actually, my wife and I are just starting a catering company," Logan says, "She should be up any moment with the rest of the help." 

"We have become close," Rachel admits, "You know me. I'm a foodie. I never shy away from a great conversation about food."

"True," Donna hums. 

"Honey," a voice calls. 

"In here, Babe," Logan calls back, disappearing from the kitchen to meet his wife halfway. 

"The party starts in twenty minutes," Donna reminds her best friend. 

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about a thing," Rachel says, lifting a finger and lightly tapping Donna's nose, "We have everything under control." 

-

She’s been weaving and bobbing through people for the last 45 minutes. She isn’t feeling very celebratory, but she only has 3 days to get all of the socializing in before she goes to the next filming location. Everyone is trying to talk to her anyway, to tell her happy birthday even though her birthday was last week some time. She just smiles graciously and participates into some idle chit-chat before excusing herself on to the next one. 

The room is loud and quiet at the same time. The music blasts instrumental versions of some of her pop favorites. Rachel really knows how to throw a party in her honor. She hasn’t even had a drink yet because she’s been too busy greeting everyone who enters. 

“Donna!” 

She hears her name somewhere behind her, back towards the door. She turns on her heel and is greeted by Jessica Pearson’s grinning face. Jessica’s knees bend when they lock eyes and she throws her arms into the air, small present grasped firmly in her right hand. Jessica closes the gap between them, pulling her in to a tight hug. 

That’s when Donna sees him. 

His light gray suit looks pristine, and his white dress shirt is the whitest shirt she’s ever seen. He’s forgone a tie, the collar loose around his neck, but he doesn’t even need it. He has the slightest hints of a 5 clock shadow, like he’d shaved that morning but had opted not to shave again. His jaw looks tight, firm, if you will, but a smile plays on his lips. His hair looks freshly cut but still standing every which way. He looks like a vision from head to toe. 

Her breath catches in her throat at the sight of him. 

Jessica pulls back with a crinkly smile, her hands positioned on Donna’s upper arms, and Donna nods slowly like her brain is finally catching up with her. She smiles on autopilot. She remembers to breathe. She allows herself to believe that maybe she was imagining things. 

“Happy birthday!” Jessica sings, shoving the present into Donna’s hands. She’s only met Jessica a handful of times, but they are all set to work together next week. She holds Jessica in such a high regard that she feels like she’s in the presence of royalty. Jessica reaches behind her without looking back and a man grabs her hand. “This is my husband Gordon.” 

Jessica makes room for Gordon to step forward as he offers Donna his hand. With the movements of both Jessica and Gordon she sees him again. She thinks that maybe there’s a spotlight shining on him. Why is he lighted better than everyone else in the room? 

“Lovely to meet you,” Gordon tells her as she finally slips her hand into his. 

“Nice to meet you,” Donna murmurs. 

“And I’d like you to meet my son,” Jessica adds, taking a half step back and slipping a hand behind the vision of a man to urge him forward, “Harvey, say hello.” 

“Hi,” he says, the smile meeting his lips fully, “I didn’t bring a gift. My coming was actually last minute.”

He shoots Jessica a look. She feels extremely foolish now that she’s looking him in the face. He pulls both hands out of his pockets and extends his right hand to her. She hesitates in taking it. The universe has to be playing a sick joke on her right now. 

“I’m-“ 

“Harvey Specter,” she interjects, slowly moving forward and taking his hand. His left hand covers her hand now resting in his. His fingertips are warm pressed against her skin. Or maybe she’s just cold. 

“Right,” he says with a small nod, as if to chastise himself. She feels two of his fingers press against her wrist. She’s trembling, her skin beneath his hands. 

“I’m Donna Paulsen,” she finally says after a few moments of gathering herself, “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Looks like we were ditched,” he says. He pulls his left hand off of hers and points in the direction of Jessica and Gordon. They’ve made their way over to the bar where Logan is serving up different concoctions. She watches on as Gordon plucks a cheese cube from the plate at one corner of the bar top and pops it into his mouth. He mutters, “Oh shit.” 

“What?” She asks, quickly shifting her gaze back to him. She follows his line of vision down to their hands, still loosely pressed together. “Sorry,” she whispers, sliding her hand away from his. 

“Can I get you a drink? It’s your birthday, you should have a drink,” he offers, “You look like a Harvey Wallbanger kind of girl.” 

He’s gone before she can protest or comment on his possible innuendo. She isn’t entirely sure, but she thinks he was coming on to her. Her heart lurches into her throat and she feels like she can’t breathe again. 

“Oh my god, Donna,” Rachel mutters in a rush, capturing Donna’s hands before she can even realize what exactly is going on, “Was that Harvey Specter?” 

“He’s getting me a drink,” she says softly, maybe even slightly awestruck, “He’ll be right back.” 

“Do you think he knows about Vogue?” Rachel asks. 

“I think everyone knows about Vogue,” Donna replies solemnly. 

“Hey,” she hears behind her. Rachel snaps upright and smiles at him knowingly before slipping away with the present in her hands and heading towards the bar. She catches him watching Rachel walk away and she sighs heavily in disappointment. “Who was that?” 

“Rachel,” she says, her shoulders slumping slightly. 

“Lively,” he says, slowly yet politely. He squints at Rachel’s retreating form and promptly shifts his gaze back to her. He immediately smiles at her. “They didn’t have the ingredients for a Harvey Wallbanger, so I guess you’ll just have to settle for a Harvey and a martini.” 

“Even better,” she utters with the smallest of laughs. He tilts his head a fraction at the sound of her laugh like he wasn’t expecting her to find him funny. He offers her the glass. She takes it from him with a small nod and voices her quiet thanks. She takes a sip from the glass. “This is perfect. Thank you.” 

“I took a guess,” he says with a shrug. The curve of his mouth screams triumph as he takes a drink from his glass of amber liquid. He swallows and arches an eyebrow. She thinks he’s teasing her. “You seem like one of those girls who like a bitter drink. None of that Appletini shit.” 

“I do like an occasional fruity drink,” she admits. 

He leans towards her. Instinctively, she lifts her hand to his chest and presses her palm against his sternum. She feels the pressure of his weight against her hand, a relentless undertaking that leaves her head swarming as he grins mischievously. She rolls her lips before tucking the bottom one between her teeth. She hasn't been this intrigued by any singular person since she met Rachel a few years ago, and now Rachel is her best friend. 

"That's okay," he relents with a small nod, "There isn't any shame in a tall drink with vibrant colors, a bit of sweetness on the tongue and a twist." 

She quirks an eyebrow in response, half wondering if she is interpreting his words correctly. He winks at her and she nearly loses her balance. She's behaving so foolishly. It seems that any time he's involved she's so foolish. 

"I shouldn't keep you," he says suddenly, "I'm sure everyone here wants a moment of your time, seeing as it's your birthday get together." 

"You don't have to go," she says all too quickly, "You can stay. I'm...enjoying your company." 

He nods firmly and smiles wider. He says, "Looks like it's my lucky day."


	2. Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems this B- list mostly movie actress rumored to be up for an Academy Award has met her match. An A list athlete was spotted taking her to lunch. That’s not all. He was seen going into her apartment and didn’t come out for 2 days. Seems his A list mostly television actress ex’s rumors might be valid after all.

_It seems this B- list mostly movie actress rumored to be up for an Academy Award has met her match. An A list athlete was spotted taking her to lunch. That’s not all. He was seen going into her apartment and didn’t come out for 2 days. Seems his A list mostly television actress ex’s rumors might be valid after all._

 

 

He stands at her front door, stupidly wringing his hands together as he musters the courage to knock. He certainly wasn't invited here and he didn't offer any form of announcement that he would pop by. When he left the party the night before, he didn't think he would see her again. 

Not that the night took a turn for the worse, but they hadn't quite encountered an opportunity to really get to know one another. He felt like an animal in a cage on display for everyone to see, like he was being watched by everyone in the room. Maybe it was the fact that it was her birthday. Or maybe it's because there was all of this build up between them before they ever even really met. 

He tightens his gaze as if threatening the door to open or to promise good things behind it. He sighs, releasing the tension from his shoulders. He lifts his hand and knocks carefully, pointedly, on the thick door. The sound echoes down the hallway and he takes a quick look around to see if the knock has received any attention from her neighbors. 

He counts to ten before the metal of the locks grind together and the door swings open. He can't help smiling at the sight of her. She pulls her cardigan more tightly around her, like she's hiding herself from him, and her lips part. His eyes impulsively travel down her frame, her long legs punctuated by a silly pant suit that would certainly capture any man's attention. He swallows and sucks in a deep breath. 

"Hi," he says. 

"You remember where I live," she says, forgoing the traditional greeting. 

"I didn't have that much to drink last night," he replies cheekily, rocking from his heels to his toes, "Look...I was a little disappointed that I couldn't get more than just a few moments alone with you and I was hoping I could take you out for a birthday lunch." 

"My birthday was last week," she says, her resolve slightly waning. 

"But I didn't get you a gift," he counters reasonably. 

"You just met me," she points out. 

"All the more reason to say yes," he suggests. She stares at him, her shoulder against the door frame, her line of sight even keel with his own. She's intimidating and empowering at the same time. "I get that it's a huge risk to be seen in public with, well, me, but I know of this great place down the street with the worst Thai food." 

"Convincing," she says, a smile playing on her lips. He tilts his head, shrugging haphazardly, and drops his hands into his pockets. He bounces from heel to toe again, passing the time while she ponders on his offer. It isn't long before she's lightly shaking her head and saying, "Let me grab my purse." 

He smiles, his lucky socks seeming to have done the trick.

-

Once they arrive at the restaurant, a hostess shows them to a dark booth in the corner. He sits across from her, the toe of his shoe accidentally tapping against hers. He cringes apologetically, entwining his fingers together and resting them on the table in front of him. She gives him an even look. 

“I’m glad you agreed to come out to lunch with me,” he says. 

“Of course,” she replies. He pops an eyebrow up on his forehead and gives her a pointed look. She was fairly reluctant considering how well they were hitting it off at her party. She tears her gaze from his and looks down at the table where her fingers are spread out against the tabletop. She sighs, heavily. “I’m not afraid of being seen in public with you.”

“You were questioning my motives,” he points out. 

“I wasn’t,” she says quickly, her eyes darting to his. Her eyes narrow on his gaze, her jaw tightening. She slowly relents, lifting her hand to her hair and brushing it out of her face while she takes a look around. “You seemed more interested in Rachel.” 

“That girl flirting with the bartender all night?” He elaborates, “Um, no. I like a woman with a little bit more class than that.” 

He watches her eyes flare up and he knows he hit a nerve. He won’t apologize for calling it the way he sees it. After all, she was flirting with the married bartender right in front of his wife who was doing her damnedest to remain professional at the sight of them. He really should have said something. But he kept his mouth shut because she was Donna’s friend. 

“Dana Scott has no class,” she says like she’s just proved a point 

“I’m not arguing with you on that one,” he says tapping his fingers against the table, “I ended things with her for good because of what you said.” 

“What I said?” She asks, leaning as far back into the booth as she possibly can. She sighs and hangs her head. She takes a few moments, but she eventually throws her shoulders back and sits straighter. “Harvey, I don’t want to be a pawn in whatever game you and Dana are playing.” 

“You’re not,” he says, voice lowering. He dips his head lower to force her to look at him. He pushes his hand across the table in search of hers. “I’m an honest guy, Donna.” 

“I know,” she says with a small wave of her hand. 

His gaze falls to her lips. Her lips stick together as she parts them, her mouth hanging half open. He thinks she’s nervous, but he can’t be too sure. Her hand returns to the tabletop, her fingers dangerously close to his. 

"We weren't together," he clarifies, "I know what it looked like, but I was never in love with her."

"I like that you're honest," she replies. He spreads his fingertips apart, lightly touching hers, and he offers her a small smile. She seems nervous and it's transferring over to him. He swallows and promptly slides his tongue over his lips, wetting the cracks in them. "Do you have any skeletons in your closet, Harvey?" 

"Do you?" He counters. 

"I have to admit," she starts, leaning forward. She gives him a nervous energy. It leaves him unsettled, but he's too intrigued by her not to hear everything about her. She looks away and it prompts the skin between his eyes to crinkle. "I've done some things I'm not proud of." 

"I'm an open book," he says. 

"We all have secrets, Harvey,” she replies. The sultry sound of his name falling from her lips makes a shiver skate through him. He has a few non-career destroying things that he hasn’t told people about, but he wants to tell her everything. 

He swallows and nods gently. He says, “Not here.” 

-

He’s been very kind to her. He doesn’t shy away from conversation and he’s been fairly open to answer any question she asks him. She hasn’t been so kind to him, yet he still insists that he walk her home. Her reluctance is directly correlated with the string of bad experiences she’s had with men. She’s had her fair share of sexual partners, most of which she wouldn’t talk about in the realms of truth, but he doesn’t seem to have the same hesitation. 

She knows that he projects the kind of wholesome image that she wants in her life. Even while being an athlete, he still looks clean cut and impressive. She’s never seen a bad picture of him. On paper, he’s the perfect man. That’s what she’s always known. But Dana Scott spent years trying to tie him down to no avail. Part of her wonders if that was all him or if that was because of Dana. 

Despite herself, she doesn’t want to just let him walk away at her front door with knowing for sure if he’s the unobtainable man. She shouldn’t. She’s too busy to put forth fruitless time and effort into a man too afraid to commit to anyone other than himself. She’s already been tied to one of those and she doesn’t need another. 

He holds the door to her apartment building open for her, gesturing for her to go through before him. He’s hot on her heels as they make their way to the elevator. He makes an effort to move to push the elevator button for her floor before she can. He does all of the polite gestures men forget. He paid for lunch. He pressed his hand into the small of her back as they exited the restaurant. He walked closely beside her, shoulders occasionally bumping together, which made her feel protected and extremely safe in a world that cameras are almost always pointed at her. 

The elevator ride to the 15th floor, where her high rising condo resides, is a rather comfortably silent one. He seems to be letting her take the lead under the guise of gentlemanly mannerisms. He is polite. He meets every standard of him she made up in her head. She feels her neck go flush as she catches his gaze on her. 

“What?” She asks, quiet, almost breathless. 

“Nothing,” he mutters. He smiles and slides a little closer to her. His shoulder brushes against hers and she sharply inhales. She feels his index fingers hook around hers. He says, “You’re even more beautiful in person.” 

“Thank you,” she mutters, her voice leaving her. She’s been called beautiful thousands of times but it’s never affected her quite like this. She shifts her gaze to the floor, looking at a particularly worn spot that sees a lot of scuffing from her neighbors. 

“You’re blushing,” he comments. He pushes off of the back wall and turns his body more towards her. She raises her gaze to him. He lifts his free hand and sweeps his fingertips at a strand of hair on her face. She watches as he licks his lips and it prompts her to do the same. He adds, “Can I kiss you, Donna?” 

“Harvey,” she says, low in her throat. She looks away from him. His fingers are now on her chin, pressing against her jawline as he angles her face towards his again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Why not?” 

She sighs and she turns her palm towards his. She presses her hand against his, her fingers sliding into the gaps between his fingers. She doesn’t entwine their fingers, not yet, but she allows herself to give in to his eyes. Her shoulders slump slightly, her resolve faltering under the crinkles around his eyes as he smiles. 

“I’m leaving for a month in just a few days,” she replies. 

“I know,” he says with a small nod. 

She lifts her free hand up into the space between them, wraps her fingers around the material of his shirt just below his right shoulder. She tells herself to be mindful of the amount of space that will be between them and the amount of time that will pass. She tells herself not to start anything that she can’t see through. 

“Neither of us need our heart broken,” she points out. She pulls him towards her more, his hips brushing over hers with the movement, and the weight of him makes her breath hitch in her throat. He presses his hand against the wall beside her head like he’s bracing himself. “We’re both far too busy to deal with heartbreak.” 

“I like you, Donna,” he replies. She can feel his breath against her lips, his nose brushing slowly over hers. She absently wets her lips, her mouth immediately parting beneath the ghost of his lips. “But if you don’t like me, that’s okay.” 

“Harvey,” she replies softly, her fingers finally hooking around his, “I don’t want to break your heart. I know the stress that comes with dating an actress.” 

“It’s just a kiss,” he tells her, “Just to see if we have any chemistry between us.” 

“I think we both know the answer to that,” she mutters. 

Her protests fall short as she closes the gap between them, her lips landing on his. He kisses her in return almost immediately, starting soft and slow before it becomes hungrier. His lips part against hers, his tongue quickly darting over her lips. She grants him permission, giving him access as the elevator jolts to a stop. He lands more heavily against her, his chest pressing against hers. A giggle peels out of her as their mouths part, breath still entwining between them.

“Shit,” he mumbles, “You were right.” 

He pushes away from her, catching the door from closing with the hand that had been placed against the wall. She steps forward to exit the elevator, dragging him in the direction of her front door. He follows willingly, her arm behind her back when he gets beside her in two quick strides. 

“Do you want to come inside?” She asks. 

“Is that even a question?” He volleys. 

Her apartment door is nearly in reach when he tugs her back towards him, turning her in the process. He presses her against the wall, immediately closing the space between them again. She catches him with fury, her nails digging into his shoulder and scratching down his arm. His hand settles on her hip, his thumb digging in to her hipbone. She shivers against him, pulling him closer.

She laughs suddenly, his mouth curving upwards in a smile. She wraps a hand around his arm, thumb settling into the crevice of his elbow. She says, “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m just usually a bit more…” 

“Discreet?” He finished for her. 

“Yeah,” she says, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder. She feels her neck and cheeks warm. She’s blushing and that only embarrasses her more. 

“I figured,” he replies. He pulls back a little, fingers pressing against her chin and lifting her head again. His gaze connects with hers and she feels a warmth rise into the pit of her stomach. She’s a fool. He pushes the hair away from her face. He says, “I like you.” 

“You’ve said that,” she reminds him. 

“I know,” he counters with a grin, “But I don’t have anything to hide with you.” 

She pushes her fingertips against his shoulder and gives herself some space to move. She can’t help following him as he steps backwards. She feels like an idiot not letting him get too far. He looks at her with so much sincerity. She immediately trusts him. She silently chastises herself for that. 

“Do you have anywhere to be?” She asks. He shakes his head. She smiles then. “Good.” 

-

He follows her inside once she's pushed the front door open, lingering just inside of the door in the entryway as she locks up behind them. He drinks in the appearance of her apartment as she silently leads him further into her space, her heels echoing in the silence of the room. It's as if a party hadn't just taken place there. The kitchen counters are pristine and the living room is spotless.

He looks up at the vaulted ceiling. He hadn't taken much interest in her apartment last night because he'd been too busy watching her smile shyly into her glass, the darkness of the room almost engulfing her if not for her light and freckled skin. The music progressively got louder as the night went on so he couldn't hear her so easily. She almost became an anomaly as the night went on.

He quickly shifts his gaze back to her. Her top forms a v shape down the middle of her shoulders, stopping midway of the clasp in her black bra. He digs his hands deep into his pockets so he doesn't give in to the urge to touch her exposed skin. 

"Donna," he mutters softly. It still seems to echo throughout the room in sync with her dropping her keys and purse on her countertop. She turns and looks at him, her eyes boring in to him. He doesn't have any secrets but he's willing to tell her everything. 

She finally replies, "Harvey," the octaves of her voice matching his. 

"I don't have any secrets," he tells her. She nods gently, taking a step backwards as she advances further into the living room. He likes the open concept of her apartment. It isn't as bright as his but offers a sense of privacy. He feels welcomed here. "People think I'm an asshole, but I'm really not. I just hate being lied to." 

He instantly thinks of his mother. He ran her off years ago when he caught her cheating on his father for the umpteenth time. He was 10. It was the worst thing he's ever done. It was the best thing he's ever done. He thinks of Scottie. She made a fool of him from the very beginning. 

"I've done some things," she admits, taking a half step back, "Things that would make you hate me." 

"I doubt that," he replies, almost sure that he could never hate her no matter what she told him. 

"You would, Harvey," she says forcefully, "I can read people. I know what you're thinking before you even think it." 

"You don't know what I'm thinking," he disagrees. 

"You hate cheaters," she says with a slight tilt of her head. 

"I know what you did," he says. He sighs, stepping towards her. He knows more about her than he wanted to let on. It's hard not to know everyone's dirty little secrets in show business. No one knows how to keep secrets anymore. That's why he lives his life the way he does. "You were lied to." 

"I knew he was lying," she counters, "But I knew it would get me what I wanted so I went with it." 

He nods and steps closer to her. The space between them is minimal. He feels out of place beside her in his jeans and Nike shoes. She looks like a vision, a star and he is a mere mortal. 

"I won't hurt you, Donna," he says. She stands a few small inches shorter than him despite her heels. He lifts his hand to her cheeks then, brushing his knuckles against her cheekbone. He pushes at her hair then, tucking the loosened strands behind her ear. "Do you trust me?" 

"More than I want to," she admits. He smiles in response, a little proud of himself as he throws his shoulders back and stands taller. She laughs suddenly, a soft chuckle in the back of her throat. The skin between his eyes crinkles as his eyebrows shift into a confused state on his forehead. "You just make me a little nervous." 

"Me too," he agrees quietly, "I mean, you make me nervous too." 

"I have done this before," she insists. 

He's been with his fair share of women. They have mostly been meaningless. Scottie is the closest he ever came to anything real but they were never really anything. There was too much he hates about her. She was really good publicity for the first few months, after that they were mostly just platonic sex friends. At least on his part. But she didn't seem to take them seriously either. 

He had sex with a few fangirls in his rookie days. Not to mention a few flings with actresses that put his name on the map in Hollywood. He hopes that month long thing with Allison Holt doesn't get out or else he will get the reputation as having a thing for redheads. 

He swallows thickly and immediately follows it up with a grin. She makes him nervous too. He spent so long building her up in his mind that he probably holds her on a pedestal. He really doesn't want to do anything to fuck whatever is blooming between them up. He's never really been one to live in fear. 

He drops his hands to her hips and steps closer, his feet settling on either side of hers. Her hands find his chest, fingers nervously tapping there against his collarbones. His eyes drift closed as she slowly slides her hands down his sternum, fingers pressing into his torso, until they slip beneath the hem of his shirt. Her nails scratch at his skin, his lips parting as he sucks in a deep breath. Her nails move past his belly button, tickling his ribcage. 

He exhales slowly and he feels her lips press against his. He shudders as she drags her nails back down to the waistline of his pants. He pushes his hands to the muscles at her lower back. Her tongue flits against his, and he kisses her harder. He pushes his hands over the curve of her ass. He presses his fingers into the back of her thighs, bending slightly at his knees to lift her. 

Her lips part from his when he lifts her from the ground. Her legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass cheeks. He mutters, "Bedroom?" 

She gestures over his shoulder with a finger. She says, “That way.”

He turns slowly, looking in the general direction she had been pointing. He steps towards the hallway, hand sliding up her spine to brace her better as she circles her arms around his neck. Her fingers trail over the nape of his neck, the hairs there standing on ends. His breathing becomes heavy and her fingers distract him. 

He pushes her against the wall, his lips quickly descending upon hers. He presses his palms against the wall on either side of her, resting all of his weight on his hips as he leans into her. Her hands pull into the space between them, fingers beginning to work at the buttons of his shirt. He kisses her hungrily, his bottom lip between her teeth as she softly bites at it. He sucks in a deep breath, her knuckles pressing against the erection in his pants. 

He grins, his lip lightly pulsating, and braces her again as he steps back from the wall. He proceeds further down the hall. She catches a doorframe and says, "This one." 

He peers around her and peaks into the bedroom. It’s a lot like his but also very different. The windows are floor to ceiling, but she has the curtains drawn to a small sliver of light shining like it’s directing him straight to her bed. He follows the guidance, carrying her to the bed and laying her on it. Her hair splays out across the sheets behind her head and the light hits her just right. She looks like the eighth wonder of the world. His breath catches in his throat. 

He recovers, pressing his knee into the mattress between her legs and hovering over her as he pushes his button up shirt off of his shoulders. Her hands catch him, tugging at his undershirt. He helps her take the shirt off, and she tosses it aside so quickly that he almost doesn’t even notice her hands have left him. Her fingers pull at the button of his pants, popping the pants open and pushing them down his hips in one fell swoop. 

She kicks off her shoes as he peels her apart, starting with her top. Their clothing quickly becomes disheveled piles on the floor. As he tosses his remaining article of clothing somewhere on the floor, a sock that somehow out lasted every last article of clothing, she wraps her hand around to the back of his neck and pulls her to him. He lowers himself between her legs, his gaze trained on her face. 

His hands press against the mattress on either side of her, balancing his weight so he doesn’t crush her. Her fingers tap against his shoulders and slide to his collarbones. He smirks there, his mouth descending upon hers. Her lips part beneath his, receiving his kiss enthusiastically. One of her hands leaves his neck as the other one smoothly brushes over his chest. 

“Hold on,” she mutters, pulling her lips from his. She moves beneath him and his gaze follows the path of her arm as she reaches to her nightstand, pulling open the drawer. Her free hand pushes against his chest as she pushes herself up and moves closer to her nightstand so she can see. She closes the drawer and turns her attention back to him. He’s confused. She produces a condom and smiles shyly. She says, “Protection.” 

“Smart,” he replies, pushing up onto his knees. He takes the foil wrapper from her and rips it open. She reaches for the rubber and moves her hand towards his erection. She slides the condom onto him. She promptly lifts her gaze to him, a smirk on her lips. He swallows, pressing his hands against her shoulders. “You’re amazing.” 

She shrugs, her skin elastic beneath his fingertips. She pushes her fingers into his hipbones and rolls over, quickly straddling his waist. He smirks, her movement pleasantly taking him by surprise. She slides on to the length of him. He releases a hearty groan as she sighs in unison. She stills on top of him, her palms pressing against his chest, and she bends down to kiss him. He pushes one hand into her hair as his other hand circles her waist. 

She begins rocking her hips. Their tongues twist together, their thrusting movements in sync making warmth gather within him. She pulls her mouth from his to moan softly, his lips still parted. His fingers thread in her hair. She rolls her hips a few more times before a moan tumbles out of her mouth, her fingers digging in to his collarbones. He feels her muscles contract around him. His orgasm follows closely behind hers, their breath entangling in the space between them. 

She collapses onto him. He doesn’t mind the added weight on his chest. He runs his fingers through her hair, hand settling just below her shoulder blades. She slides into the space beside him, dropping a kiss to his jaw. He smiles and turns his head towards her. He lightly presses his lips against hers, letting their kiss linger there. 

-

He watches her as she moves about her kitchen, like an expert, from his seat on one of the barstools at the island. She’s wearing his button up, legs barreling out from beneath the hem of the navy blue shaded material. Her legs go on forever, her big toe of her right foot lightly tapping against the ground as she pours two cups of coffee. 

She returns the coffee pot to its position in the coffee maker and reaches for something else on the counter. His gaze travels back up the length of her frame, her red hair vibrantly colliding with his shirt. He’s always wondered why women put on his clothes after sex, but he’s never asked. He’s always been afraid they would misinterpret the question for a certain interest in them.

“Donna?” 

“Yes?” She mocks playfully, turning with both mugs in her hand. She moves around the island towards him. She sets both mugs down on the island, pushing it more towards him. 

He smirks when her thigh hits his foot. He reaches for her, his hand sliding just above her hip, and he bunches the shirt in his grasp. He looks down at the space between them, sees that the hem of his shirt has crept up her thigh and is exposing even more of her. She steps forward into his arms, his other hand instantly coming up to her side. She flinches like he’s hit a ticklish spot, a smile on her face, and he feels her hands slide over his shoulders to come to a stop at the back of his neck. 

“Why do women always put on my clothes after sex?” He asks her, head tilting slightly. 

“So you have to stay longer,” she counters with a grin. 

He laughs softly, the thought of leaving having not even entered his mind yet. He pushes his hands around her frame, fingers pressing into the space just above her ass, and pulls her closer. She falls towards him, her elbows digging into his upper arms, and settles between his legs. He looks down at her his nose at her. One of her hands moves to his forehead and pushes the hair back to reveal his hairline. 

“You’ll have to kick me out,” he whispers. 

He can’t break eye contact with her. He feels like he’s looking at the secrets of the universe, and he has the power to conquer the world. He’s never felt such a deep connection with another person before. It kind of scares him. 

Her fingers slide through his hair as she leans towards him. Her lips press against his cheek, lingering there for a few moments. He sighs and leans into her. She says, “Drink your coffee and we can go for another round.” 

He’s too busy slithering his hands down her structure to care about the coffee. He turns his head slightly to kiss her. His lips slide against hers, the sweet taste of vanilla is on them. His tongue darts over her bottom lip. Her mouth widens, tongue meeting his in the miniscule space between their lips, and she twists it against his. Her arms wrap around his shoulders to pull him closer as she pushes up onto the tips of her toes. 

She pulls back, resting her forehead on his again. Her sees her eyes drift closed out of the edge of his gaze, and she sucks in a deep breath. He pushes his hands up her sides and presses his palms against her shoulder blades. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

“You really scare me,” she admits. She pulls back to look at him, nearly a foot between their lips now. 

He nods slowly, fingers sliding into her hair. He moves his hand to her ribs and pushes it up to her neck, pads of his fingers brushing at the hair framing her face. He says, “You scare me, too.”


	3. Mistakes

_It seems things between this B- mostly movie actress and A list athlete are over before they even start. She was seen getting cozy with her director. He was spotted in a bar getting a little handsy with fellow female patrons. Perhaps all of that build up between the two of them was a massive bust when they actually did meet._

-

She pushes her sunglasses onto her head as she exits the plane and enters the bustle of the airport. The flight had been longer than she usually takes, especially since she offered up her first class seat so the newlywed couple could sit together on their return flight home. Her legs are a little cramped from flying coach. She slows to a stop just outside of the movement of people exiting the plane and stretches.

She presses her hands against the small of her back and leans backwards, stretching the muscles there. She releases a sigh before standing upright again. She digs through her purse in search of her phone. She turns airplane mode off and watches her phone breathe to life all of the missed calls and messages she received during her plane ride.

Louis: Call me ASAP

Louis: There is a situation

Louis: What the hell do you think you're doing?

She cringes as she scrolls through all of his texts. She can't even deal with listening to his multiple voicemails after her flight.

Rachel: Have a safe trip! Love you!

She smiles softly upon reading the text from her friend, but a frown ultimately takes over her face as she realizes of all the notifications on her phone, none are from the man she'd spent the weekend locked in her apartment with.

26 hours ago…

"Hey," he says, fingers brushing over her bare shoulder. She peels her eyes open and rolls over onto her back. She squints, the morning sun blaring through the window and blinding her. She blinks a few times, the weight of the bed shifting as he sits down beside her. "Wake up, Sleepyhead."

"Why are you awake?" She mutters, rolling towards him again and slipping her arm around his waist. He moves beneath her arm, propping his legs up on the bed. He slides an arm beneath her and guides her over to his torso where her hand rests just below her chin, her ear pressed against his chest just a few centimeters from his heart. She can hear his heartbeat against her eardrum, the echo even louder as he sighs.

"I made you breakfast," he says. She quirks an eyebrow, hiding her grin into her hand as she slides her palm over his sternum.

"You helped yourself to my kitchen," she says, "I would have loved to see that."

"I know how to cook a hearty breakfast," he replies defensively, "I grew up poor."

"Harvey Specter without the lavish lifestyle? Now that I would like to see," she says, pressing her hand against his stomach to sit up and look at his face.

He's smirking. He reaches over to the nightstand with his freehand and grabs a slice of bacon. He takes a quick bite before thrusting the food into her face. She takes a bite, immediately moaning around the flavor. She blushes and covers her mouth, continuing to chew the bacon as she sits upright.

"It's good," she says once she's swallowed, "Can I hire you to cook me breakfast every morning?"

"Unfortunately I already have a contract elsewhere," he replies with a grin.

He reaches for the plate on the nightstand and brings it closer. She immediately grabs the fork and stabs some eggs. She takes a quick bite and nods her approval. He takes her fork and pushes at the eggs before stabbing some. They eat in silence, sharing a fork and a plate, until the food is all gone.

Present…

She sighs, annoyed, as she finally listens to Louis' newest voicemail: Donna Victoria Paulsen, what have you done? I am getting calls from all kinds of publications asking for a comment on your relationship with that troublemaker Harvey Specter. I am absolutely blindsided. Don't make me call your father. 

Deep down in her subconscious mind, she knew this was going to be a huge fucking deal. Deep down, she knew it was going to be a problem.

But at the time, she really wasn't thinking very much. At the time, Harvey had easily made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. He'd expertly made her believe that he couldn't care about what anyone else saw, couldn't care about anyone else's opinion, and that he didn't care about publicity.

25 hours ago…

"Do you want me to take you to the airport?" He asks, sitting from a stool at the bar, cup of coffee between his fingers. She lightly shakes her head, hiding a smile behind the rim of her own mug. He's already asked her 3 times. "Are you sure?"

"I appreciate you offering," she replies gently. She sets her mug down on the counter and moves towards him. She lifts her arms to wrap them around his shoulders, pleased when he opens an arm to receive her. They would really make an adorable couple. She smiles softly and says, "But that really isn't a good idea."

"I think it's a good idea," he argues, "In fact, I think it's the best idea."

"We've known each for three days," she reminds him.

He smiles, lifting his hand up between them to push a hair from her eyes. "But three amazing days," he corrects.

"You have a point," she concedes, "But my publicist would freak out. Trust me. He really doesn't know how to handle damage control. He's a bit anxious."

"He sounds…interesting," Harvey replies, nose scrunched up in disgust.

"You're cute," she muses. He immediately grins in response. He pulls her forward, his lips landing on hers. They kiss for a few moments before she pulls back to look at him. Her gaze lingers, studying that goofy look on her face. She tries to embed his smile into her memory, knowing she won't see him again for a few weeks if ever. "How about I put my number into your phone so you can give me a call while I'm gone?"

He nods slowly, reaching into his pants pocket for his phone and fishing it out. He hands her the device, quickly telling her the passcode to unlock it. She smirks as he tells her the passcode, admiring his ability to trust so easily. She types her phone number into his phone and hands it back to him.

"Wait," he says, before she can move away. She looks at him, eyebrows furrowed in question. He unlocks his phone again and opens up front facing camera. He pulls her close to his chest and extends his arm out. He adds, "For your contact picture."

She smiles softly and gives him a nod. She pushes her arm around his back and leans against him. She turns her head and lightly kisses his cheek just as she hears the camera click. He looks at the picture, muttering, "Perfect."

Present…

Donna sighs as she tucks her phone away into her purse. She wraps her hand around her carry on and serves into the moving crowd, making her way towards baggage claim. It takes all of 2 seconds once she has arrived to the baggage claim to spot the blonde assistant. Katrina waves excitedly and meets Donna halfway.

"How was your flight?" Katrina greets, grabbing Donna's bag handle.

She reluctantly lets go, too tired from her trip to be strong-willed. She offers Katrina a grateful smile. She says, "It was ok. Long. Tiring."

"Let's get you settled and you can relax," Katrina says. Donna nods in agreement, deciding to put the weekend in the back of her mind and never bring it up again.

-

18 hours until landing...

He sighs as he checks his phone. Still too soon to call her or text her. She would still be thousands of miles in the air and wouldn't even know he's called for another 18 hours. He tucks his phone away into his pocket and grabs his duffle bag off of the corner of the couch. He slacked over the weekend, steering far away from anything presumably athletic, although there was quite a bit of exercise, and it's time for him to get back to work.

He grabs his keys from the table beside the door and grabs the doorknob. Ripping the door open in a rush, he's halted in his tracks before he can slam into a solid obstruction. He stares at the woman long and hard, brown hair framing her face and wrinkles framing her eyes. His mouth drops open at the sight before him.

There stands his mother, about 5 feet and 5 inches tall, nearly 130 pounds now, looking every bit of the 50 years that she is. He hasn't seen her since she walked out when he was just a boy. She looks older, more worn, but still the same. He still looks like her around the edges; all women remind him of her on the surface.

"Who let you in?" He growls.

"Harvey, it's me, your mother," she hums, eyes wide and hopeful.

"I know who you are. I've seen pictures," he counters. He huffs, annoyed at the sight of her. He tucks his thumb beneath the strap of his bag and skirts his feet forward, determined to get passed her. "I have to go."

"I want to see you," she says forcefully.

He shakes his head in response. He says, "I'm on my way out."

-

Just another week of only pitchers at practice. He feels tired. The season hasn't even started and already he needs a break. The only thing he'd been looking forward to in his life, the season to start, and no he just wants to escape from it as soon as possible.

He blames his mother.

His life has been going great. Practice has started again. He met a really awesome woman who he really likes. Even though she was leaving the country for a month, he still thought maybe they could make it work.

But when his mother showed up at his door, so did all of those insecurities. He feels like his 8 year old self again, small and untrusting of others. He can't shake the things that his 8 year old self saw. He walked in on his mother cheating on his father, multiple times. When she was finally caught, she left and never came back.

He doesn't understand why she would show up at his door, and he truthfully didn't care to ask. He's simply walked away from her without so much as another word, leaving her in the dust as he attempted to get to practice on time. And now, he's too distracted to throw a pitch even remotely good enough.

"What the fuck, Harvey?" Jack growls after having to jump to catch another wild throw. He sighs annoyed that he once again is unable to control his arm. He hates not being in control. Jack throws the ball back to him where he stands at the mound. "Do you need to take a break?"

"Something like that," Harvey hums. In unison, they walk towards the benches to retrieve a cup of water. He sits down on the bench beside the water cooler, grabbing a cup and getting himself some water.

"Saw pics of you with a redhead," Jack says and takes a drink of his water. Harvey nods slowly and takes a drink of his own water.

"We just went to lunch," he replies with a shrug, "I don't even think she liked me."

"Who was she?" Jack asks, slamming down onto the bench beside him.

"Just some woman my dad and Jessica set me up with," Harvey answers, once again only telling half truths, "That's the last time I ever let them set me up. They thought I needed to get out there."

"So things between you and Dana are really over?"

Harvey shrugs again. He doesn't want to look at Jack. There's too much riding on the surface, his image, his publicity, his successes. He doesn't know how Dana ever helped him with that. Maybe he's better off as a bachelor. Women just lie and cheat anyway.

-

She's been working a lot of hours, a lot of nasty hours. She's had a few scenes with everybody, but she still barely knows anyone. Jessica was the only one who came to her birthday party so the rest she knows of her fellow cast are rumors.

She's tired and, quite frankly, done with being stranded in a beautiful country with no real friendships. She is a social butterfly and she typically makes friends everywhere she goes, but she's still avoiding public scrutiny. She's been in Australia for almost two weeks and she still hasn't heard from the guy who declared he was different. Surely he was different, like she'd thought.

She's been very careful not to put Jessica in an awkward position. She hasn't asked about the woman's stepson, knows that it is uncouth. Jessica is a good woman, nice, professional, and she doesn't deserve to be put into a difficult situation. She's almost positive that Jessica knows something went on between her and Harvey.

The movie is only halfway through filming, and she already needs a break. She never really been one who needs a break from working, but something is just really getting to her now. She can't quite put her finger on it. Maybe it's disappointment. Maybe it's loneliness in this country that's getting to her. She decides that she's better off at least asking Jessica if she'd like to grab a bite to eat; after all, the woman is away from her family so she's probably feeling a little lonely too, at least a little.

The director calls for a break and the always on point Jessica quickly transitions into a warm smile. She throws her shoulders back as the room disperses into rapid movement, everyone breaking away for food, drinks and the restroom. Before she can even take a step, she feels a hand on her arm.

"Donna," a voice says behind her. She turns on her heel, coming face to face with a semi-friendly face. She smiles instinctively, almost too afraid to be anything other than warm and welcoming to the man intruding her space.

"Hello, Mitchell," she says with a small nod, "Is everything ok?"

"Of course," Mitchell replies, smiling so big that she feels a reassuring comfort wash over her, "You're doing great. I was just hoping we could get dinner."

"Oh, Mitchell," she replies, the rejection catching on the tip of her tongue.

"Oh no, Donna," he says, lifting his hand into the air to keep her from talking, "It's my treat."

Her resolve wavers and her shoulders fall instantly. She wanted some company. She smiles then. She says, "Well, alright."

-

Mitchell is giving her a look. She hasn't seen the look grace his face before. He's been decently professional, mostly intense. He's a little difficult for her to read, which is saying something because she can read people quite easily. He smiles suddenly.

"Donna," he says, reaching across the table for her hand. He's forward and it's a little alarming. She typically likes the forward quality in a man, but she's reeling from a heartbreak she knew would happen. Her gaze shifts from his eyes to his hand on hers. "I've been thinking."

She sucks in a deep breath, not really sure where this is going. She's scared he's going to say something stupid. They slept together one time 6 months ago and he's taken little to no interest in her since. She's been fine with that. This is technically the first date they've ever been on. She knew she should have dressed down rather than up.

"Oh no," she mutters, her other hand coming up to coverher mouth. Mitchell smirks and nods slowly. She didn't really see dinner turning into this. She repeats, "Oh no."

"Yes," he says slowly, "I think we should make it official."

"What?" She replies, incredulous. Laughter peels out of her so loudly that the restaurant quiets down and gazes shift towards them in curiosity. She takes a long look around the restaurant just in time to look at the table slightly behind her for a camera to flash. She sighs, defeated, and pulls her hand out of Mitchell's. "Look, Mitchell, I just…I don't think that's really a good idea."

"Come on," he says, leaning his elbows on the table, "It's a great idea. It'll be really good publicity for the movie."

"That's," she hesitates to swallow and shakes her head, "That's not what I want."

"It'll be good for us both," he replies, "And it'll get people talking about the movie."

"Mitchell, no," she says sternly, "I'm not interested in a publicity stunt."

"It'll have some elements of reality," he counters with a shrug, "You can set the ground rules."

She sighs, annoyed, but finding herself considering the offer nonetheless. She'd really hoped to get a phone call or at least a text from Harvey. She can't wait around for him. She lifts her gaze to Mitchell. She says, "I'll think about it."

-

He watches his father as he swings at another ball. His father comes here sometimes, and he knows exactly where to find him when Gordon isn't answering the phone. Harvey typically relishes the opportunity to come here with his father, batting be his favorite past time but a luxury he no longer gets to take part in. He's been trying to convince his coaches for years that he can be beneficial to their batting team, but they are quick turn him down. Maybe he will have batting penciled into his next contract renewal.

His father swings again, hitting this one way back into the outfield. Harvey smiles and nods his approval as he leans against the fence behind all of the action. He's practically jumping inside of his shoes at the thought of holding a bat in his hands.

"Are you going to give it a go or are you just going to stand there and watch me?" Gordon finally says, taking a step back from the plate.

"Don't mind if I do," Harvey replies, taking a step forward.

Gordon turns and hands Harvey the bat. Gordon goes to the fence and leans against it as Harvey and settles into prime batting position. He hits a few balls to the back fence, one even going to the other side, before the machine runs out of balls.

Harvey's steps meet Gordon's as they head towards the cooler where Gordon reaches in and pulls out two beers. Harvey takes the proffered beer, takes a massive swig out of it, and settles the brown bottle at his side, thumb looped through a belt loop on his jeans. He watches his father take a few sips before the older man looks directly at him.

"What's on your mind, Son?" Gordon fishes.

"Nothing," he replies, unconvincingly.

"That's bullshit," Gordon counters, "I know that look. That look is definitely something."

Harvey lifts his bottle closer to his chest, but instead of taking a drink, he just lets it linger there. He shrugs half heartedly before he takes the smallest drink he's ever taken from the bottle. He can feel his father's gaze drawing the truth out of him.

"Mom stopped by my apartment," Harvey finally admits, "I wasn't going to tell you. I didn't even talk to her. But it really...made things difficult."

"Like what?" Gordon takes another drink so Harvey follows suit.

"That Donna girl," Harvey starts, swallowing. He sucks in a deep breath and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. He takes a quick look around at the green field, a little patchy, but that's to be expected when the grass is natural, and his eyes settle on Gordon again. He says, "We saw each other for a few days before she left, and I haven't had the heart to call her since."

"Not all women are like your mother," Gordon replies without hesitation. He takes a step towards Harvey. He settles his hand on Harvey's arm, fingers wrapping around his forearm with such ease that Harvey absently wonders if there's even any muscle there. "Don't be afraid to get your heart broken, Harvey. It's just a muscle anyway."

"Thanks, Dad," Harvey dryly mutters.

"It's going to take a grand, romantic gesture to get back into her good graces," Gordon says, "A phone call just won't do."

"Dad," Harvey warns.

"I'm going to see Jessica in Australia next week," Gordon informs him, "Why don't you come with me?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Harvey says with a light shake of his head. He's downing the rest of his beer before his father can even blink.

-

Mitchell called wrap on production for the day a good 15 minutes ago. He's still trying to schmooze her. His public wooing after his proposal in the restaurant only increased the attention he's been giving her over the last few days. Her guard has slightly fallen, thinking that at least the interest in the film would increase with rumors about her private life. She's never much cared about her private life being on display, snapping shots to Instagram for a brief nod from her fans. That, and her fans are actually interested in her private life and she really wants them to know that who she is really isn't just a front.

Finally breaking free of her director, she heads back towards her trailer to gather her things so she can head home. Most of the time, the cast with top billing is the first to head out, but she tries to be the last so everyone else gets out safely. She's worked on films where the top billed just didn't care and those were the films that just always felt off. She's never mentioned that to anyone.

Walking through the lot of trailer, she sees a dark form sitting on the stairs of hers. The form has their head down, a bag a few inches to the right of their feet. She's concerned that someone really needs her so she approaches faster. About halfway to her trailer, she blinks a few times, the form becoming clearer. The man who sits there is the man who didn't have any decency to call her. Her head hangs lower, his gaze cast down.

He must hear her steps because when she's about 15 feet away from him, he looks up. He smiles, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. Her face betrays her as she smiles back.

"Donna," he greets, jumping to his feet, "Hi."

"Hello, Harvey," she says evenly, "What are you doing here?"

"Jessica's trailer is a little preoccupied," he informs her, gesturing to a trailer just a few spots down where laughter peels out of the unfortunately cracked window. He visibly cringes upon hearing the noise and she almost pities him. Almost. He looks back at her, left foot kicking at his duffle bag. "Besides, I'm here to see you."

"You shouldn't have," she replies dryly, slipping passed him. She ascends the stairs and jiggles her trailer door open. She stops before she can enter the trailer and turns to face him. "I programmed my number into your phone, all you had to do was use it."

"I'm an asshole," he immediately replies.

She stops, her entire demeanor changing at the sincerity on his face. She takes a step down the stairs, closing the space between them but continuing to hover over him. She lightly shakes her head and says, "You're not an asshole. You're an idiot."

"My dad said a grand romantic gesture might be enough to get back into your good graces," Harvey says forcefully.

"Your dad is married because he didn't do dumb shit like this," she counters.

He smiles and cocks his head to the side. He says, "That's probably true."

She smiles coyly and turns away from him, quickly moving up the staircase again. She leaves the door open when she enters her trailer, but he doesn't follow. She's impressed because most men would. She sits down on the bed, watching for a solid minute. She finally gives up.

"So, are you coming in?" She calls.

She hears the staircase creak as his weight shifts on it. He sets his bags down just inside the door and pulls the door shut behind him. He smiles, a little wider this time.


	4. Heavy Hitters

_This A list athlete and B- mostly movie actress were seen in a foreign country getting cozy with one another. There was an explosion on set over their love affair with an A- list director currently directing her film. The A list athlete was ultimately banned from set after a physical fight broke out between the two men. One of the two men walked away with an injury. Production on set is shut down for two weeks._

 

 

 

 

 

She squirms beneath his gaze. He likes the way she seems bothered, but not necessarily in the worst way. She doesn’t look uncomfortable. In fact, she looks rather confident despite him openly staring at her. So she stares back at him with those deliciously brown eyes and slightly pouty lips. It feels like hours have gone by without either of them saying anything, but it’s only been a few short minutes.

 

“Where are you staying?” She says, practically choking on her words. There is nearly an entire trailer between them as he hasn’t moved from his spot by the door. She’s leaned back on her hands. He thinks she looks amazing.

 

He swallows thickly and scratches at the back of his head. He slowly shoves his hands into his pockets. He says with a shrug, “I’m not sure.”

 

"Well, that's just no good," she comments with a grin. His resolve melts away and he steps cautiously towards her. His hands tap against his thighs, a tired tongue slides over his lips, absently wetting them. She says, "Surely you can stay with your-"

 

"I can find a hotel," he interjects, "That isn't a problem."

 

She smirks there. She says, "It's nice that they still like each other, isn't it? How long has it been?"

 

"Twenty-three years," he answers. He tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He doesn't understand why he's asking. Truthfully, he didn't think this through. He bought a plane ticket, but didn't make any hotel arrangements. He sighs in defeat. "Look, maybe I should just go."

 

"Nonsense," she replies. He watches her practically jump to her feet and cross the trailer, extending her hand and lightly touching his wrist. He twists his wrist beneath her fingers, lightly touching her hand with his. "Follow me."

 

-

 

She can hear his steps heavy behind her, the weight of his bag crashing into his thigh with every step he takes as he follows her down the hallway of the hotel. The hotel is a good half hour away from set, the drive long and consisting of awkward, idle conversation. There's a lot she wants to ask him (like "What the fuck, Harvey?!"), but she wants privacy away from the cab driver. She wants privacy and it isn't likely she's going to get it.

 

The man in the hotel lobby looks at her and her guest with such wide eyes that the suggestion he get his own room in a different hotel was sitting on the tip of her tongue, but she just couldn’t ask him to. He’d flown thousands of miles, blown off his training, just to see her and she had to give him that chance. For some stupid reason she wanted to give this man she barely knows a chance to redeem himself.

 

She slips the key into the door and pushes her door open, pressing her back into the heavy metal to open the door for him. She makes room for him and he slips into her hotel room. The closeness of his body to hers almost makes her abandon all reason.

 

"Have a seat," she suggests, gesturing to the room. The door slams shut behind her, the echo piercing her ears and she silences it with the flick of her turning the lights on. She watches him as he looks around the room, probably for the most appropriate place to sit. "It isn't much."

 

"I like that about you," he admits, voice so silky that she almost thinks she heard him incorrectly. He turns back toward her and offers her a small smile. She can't help but feel slightly offended by his statement. "You don't do everything for the appearance. You're real, like you still believe in the world."

 

"Why are you like that?"

 

"What?" He asks with a shrug, setting his bag on the floor at his feet. Reluctantly, he sits on the edge of the bed. She realizes there isn't really anywhere else for them to sit.

 

"Like you've lost all hope," she muses.

 

He smiles softly. He says, "I came all of the way here to see you. I must have some kind of hope."

 

-

 

She stares at herself in the mirror, her hair still wet from her shower and a fluffy white towel wrapped around her. He's in the other room, quietly entertaining herself as she washes her day off of her. She's almost afraid to face him.

 

The reality is that she liked him, probably even too much, and she had gotten her hopes up a little too high. He hadn't called or even texted since she'd left. Part of her wonders if she did forgive him, if he would do something like this again. He's a good man, but she can't be hurt by him right now. He obviously has some things to work through.

 

She makes herself presentable before leaving the bathroom to face him again. She doesn't even know what's left to say. Has too much time passed for them by now? She sighs and opens the bathroom door. He's still sitting on the edge of the mattress like he doesn't belong. She never imagined he would be uncomfortable anywhere.

 

"You could have made yourself comfortable," she says.

 

"I know you don't want to forgive me," he starts, "But I've been thinking a lot about why you should."

 

"Why is that?" She hums.

 

"Because I do like you, Donna, and unless I've just made a fool of myself, I think you like me too," he replies. He stands in front of her, all gusto that was missing when she'd first seen him suddenly returned to his demeanor. She feels his hand touch her hips and her breath catches in her throat. How is he doing this? "And because I'm sorry."

 

She feels herself nodding slowly, stupidly, like every bit of her is being magnetically pulled to him. She had really thought after everything, she wouldn't fall so quickly for someone. She likes him way more than she should after just meeting him.

 

She swallows thickly. Her hands wrap around his forearms. He looks genuinely sorry but she is extremely curious about why he just disappeared. She's scared. But the rational part of her says that he wouldn't risk his career not showing up to practice and being seen in a country all of the way around the world if she didn't mean something to him. She is always a sucker for romance.

 

"You coming all of the way here to surprise me is kind of romantic," she absently agrees. He smiles shyly, the look on his face making a grin spread across her own. She's going to forgive him. "Are you going to kiss me now or what?"

 

-

 

He feels a weight on his torso as he peels his eyes open to a room that is particularly brighter than he'd expected. Not that he doesn't have an extremely bright apartment back home. He squints and looks down at the weight on his chest. Her red hair is disheveled, but her arm is tucked around him in such a protective manner that he doesn't even want to try to move anymore than he already has.

 

They'd kissed for a little bit, talked for a little bit, and she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder even though he was extremely tired from the flight and the time zone change. He couldn't fall asleep before her. He needed to be sure that she actually forgave him.

 

Her head is on his stomach, hair tangling in with the material of his shirt. He leans his head back on the pillow beneath him, bracing himself for what could be a long wait before she wakes. He releases a heavy breath, nearly panicking when she immediately moves in response. Her thumb digs into his skin and it stings for a quick moment. He hisses quietly, swallowing as much of the sound as is possible.

 

"What time is it?" She grumbles.

 

He sighs, feeling a panic rise in his chest. He scans the room for the time, but doesn't immediately spot anything. He reaches for the nearest phone and hits the button to light up the screen, and he's met with an abundance of notifications beneath the time. It's nearly noon.

 

He swallows. He says, "It's almost noon."

 

"Shit," she mutters.

 

"Yeah," he absently agrees, "Your phone has been blowing up."

 

He extends her phone to her but she doesn't take it. She stretches out across him, her forehead nestling into the crook of his neck. He smirks and sets her phone back down on the bed behind her. He slips his arm around her back, fingers sliding onto her hip.

 

"I'm very, very late," she says, slipping her hand beneath the hem of his shirt, "And Mitchell is not going to be happy."

 

"Mitchell?" Harvey mulls, "This the Mitchell guy?"

 

"You don't have to worry about him," she assures all too quickly.

 

"I know," Harvey says with a smirk, "But does he know that?"

 

"I already told him I'm not interested," she says.

 

-

 

She's losing her mind. She's blowing off work for a guy she barely knows, a very important leading role being put on the back burner for a man who literally blew her off for weeks. She's stupid, and she fell hard for this man after 3 days. She's never fallen for anyone. She's always been extremely smart about men except for that one lapse of judgment she had.

 

Her back is against the wall, her legs draped over his lap, and she pops a cherry into her mouth. She squishes it between her teeth and grins at him. His hand settles on her knee and slides down her thigh. She shivers beneath his fingertips, leaning forward and holding a cherry against his lips. His lips part and he takes it into his mouth, swallowing it just as quickly.

 

He looks adorably tired, and she should really pick up her phone to let someone know that she over slept, that she will be there soon. She should really let him sleep. She hasn't said as such. She's given some small indication that she's going to be in trouble, but she doesn't want to leave when she knows that he's so unsettled with Mitchell. Plus, she needed something to eat.

 

"You don't have to be jealous of Mitchell," she finally says, leaning back against the wall.

 

"I'm not," he reassures, "I just heard he's been after you for awhile."

 

"He wants us to stage a relationship," she admits, "But I don't want that. I want something real."

 

"What's real to you?" He asks.

 

He's really trying to step outside of his comfort zone, she can tell. He almost looks shy with this boyish flavor in his features. His lips are curled ever so slightly at the edges, hair sticking to and running from his head. But she still doesn't want to answer him. With all of his charm, she knows she will scare him away even after his grand, romantic gesture.

 

She hums absently for a few moments before she grins wanly, like she's pondering telling him every single one of her deepest, darkest secrets. She has many. She doesn't have any. She toys the line between being coy and being honest at any given moment.

 

"Wanting to be with someone so bad that you think beyond all reason," she says softly. She can't look at him, like she's afraid of what he will say or do. Her fingers find a loose thread on the bed and absently toy with it to distract herself. "Being open and honest. That undeniable attraction."

 

"I can relate," he says. His voice is low in the back of his throat and it commands her attention. She has to look at him now. She wants to know his every thought, see his every emotion on his face. "I've never liked someone as much as I like you."

 

"Oh yeah?" She asks, voice teetering on the edge of teasing. Her breath hitches in her chest instead.

 

"Yeah, you're real," he says, taking a moment to reach for her hand and tug her towards him. He meets her more towards the center of the bed. His boyish charm has evaded him and that raw manliness has taken over his rugged features. He says, "I like everything about you."

 

And she can't contain her giddiness anymore, her body arching towards his in such an awkward way but she's too busy passionately meeting his lips with her own to notice the cramps in her bones. Her body slides over him, knees instantly parting to settle on either side of his hipbones, and she lowers herself onto him.

 

She can feel his erection through his pants. She inhales upon the contact and she feels him smirk against her mouth. The taste of his tongue is sweet, warm, inviting like a cup of hot cocoa on a cold, December night. She is elated by him, the sharpness of his tongue slipping between her slightly parted lips taking her by painstaking surprise.

 

His hands push up her thighs, fingers slipping between them in an effortless search of her center. She feels the pads of his fingers press hard against her panties, the coyness of his touch lingering there as her heart practically stops beating. Her hands brace themselves on his shoulders, fingers squeezing him so tight that he winces in pain. She loosens her grasp, making herself breathe normally again.

 

He kisses her deeper, nipping at the corner of her mouth with his teeth. The distraction leaves her thoughtless as he slips a finger beneath her panty line, drawing just barely between her lips. She sighs, smoothing a hand down his chest to unbutton his pants and unzipping them with ease. She lowers herself more, his fingers pressing more into her.

 

She pulls her mouth from his, moan falling from her mouth. Her fingers push on his boxer briefs and he lifts his hips off of the bed to give her a little help. He releases an equally luscious groan as his erection is freed from its constriction. She slips her fingers into his hand, pressing against his palm to move his hand from inside of her.

 

Part of her hesitates because she knows they should use some kind of protection, but the other part of her just doesn't care. She lowers herself onto his length so slowly that he lifts his hips to meet her in the middle. He groans as he drops his forehead against her chest, seemingly using her to brace himself.

 

"How's that?" She mutters.

 

"Really, really good," he replies. He presses a kiss against her exposed cleavage. She shudders beneath his kiss, slowly rocking her hips back and forth. He sighs and presses his fingers against the small of her back. He moans a hearty, "God."

 

She grins and buries her head into his neck. They rock like that for a few minutes until she feels his hand drop between them and his thumb draw circles against her. She feels a warmth rise in her stomach until her uterus contracts around him, which prompts him to stop breathing against her skin for a moment or two before he follows quickly behind in his own orgasm.

 

They both sit there for a good half a minute attempting to catch their breaths before either of them move. She hesitates again, knowing that she really needs to leave. She wants nothing more than to stay in bed all day with him though.

 

-

 

He made a few phone calls when she finally (it was a begrudging thing where she dragged her feet and he did everything he could to keep her from leaving) left to face the real world. And he knows without a doubt that she's going to be gone for quite some time, if not all night. Especially after delaying filming for nearly all of sunlight. She had explained that it's a setback but not one that can't be overcome.

 

His phone calls consisted of him facing the real world, too. He knows that the truth of his whereabouts will come out, especially because he wants nothing more than to parade around the city holding her hand. He knows how delicate relationships are in Hollywood, including timing and placement, but for once he doesn't care. He doesn't want to overthink his feelings for her, just wants to act on them.

 

But he uses his time wisely in cleaning up a few loose ends. The repercussions include him not getting to start opening day. And it's the first opening day that he hasn't thrown the first pitch in 4 years. He will just have to get over it. And he thinks for a certain fiery redhead he just might be able to get over it rather quickly.

 

He joins Jessica and his father for dinner at some restaurant in the middle of Adelaide. Jessica raved about the food all of the way from the hotel to the restaurant. He watched as his father nodded along, chiming in every once and a while, and he absently wonders if that's what a long term life together is. The closest thing he ever had to a relationship was Scottie, and they mostly just played head games with one another. They were never really going anywhere together.

 

He takes the booth across from them and instantly feels like the third wheel. But he knows that as soon as their drinks are ordered it will become something else. They have questions and they won't stop without any answers. He will hesitate to give them but he ultimately will because they are really the best parents a guy could have.

 

The waitress takes their order, obviously awestruck by Jessica as most people who aren't sports fans (or Americans) are, and quickly returns with a bottle of wine from the bar like it's a peace offering. His father will, of course, leave a larger than life tip because he doesn't like frivolous and expensive gifts being given to his woman by anyone other than him. Not that the above and beyond treatment at restaurants isn't always nice, but they do all have a reputation to uphold.

 

With the bottle corked and glasses poured, Harvey braces himself for the inevitable line of questioning to come. Appetizers are on their way and the kitchen has their order with strict instructions not to start cooking it until their appetizer is completely gone. He never understood the long process of dining that Jessica and his father take, but he doesn't question it. He supposes everything is different when you enjoy the company of your dinner companion.

 

"So, what happened?" And it's Jessica who asks first. She never breaks the ice like his father does. She just barrels right into the conversation head first.

 

"Uh..." he hesitates there, not sure just how explicit he should get. He shrugs then and takes a sip of his wine. A glance around the room suggests they may be a tad bit over dressed, but they always must be. He swallows the liquid and says, "We just talked."

 

"No you idiot," Jessica bites, lovingly of course, "We introduced her to you because we thought you were perfect for each other. Why'd you nearly screw that up?"

 

He sighs there. He already told his father what happened so surely Jessica already knows everything. He debates even delving into it at this point. Reluctantly, he concedes. He says, simply, "Mom."

 

"What about her?" Jessica asks, but he knows it's a rhetorical question. He watches her long, delicate fingers peel at her glass but never grasping it for a drink. Growing up with Jessica was no small feat. "She's not an excuse, boy."

 

"I know," he says, like he's a small child, "I just..."

 

"I raised you better than that," she says, voice stern. And although Jessica wasn't his mother, she is the closest thing to it that he's ever really had. She's never let him go a day that he isn't felt loved or respected. He doesn't know why he even lets his mother get into his head still. "Your mother doesn't deserve you, but I love you. And any woman would be lucky to have you if you just let them."

 

"I'm trying," he says with an affirmative nod.

 

"Good," Jessica says, finally picking up her glass, "Because I like this one."

 

He feels his mouth stupidly spread into a grin. Jessica takes her sip and he decides that he's just going to tell them everything he can get away with. He says, "I really like her, too. She's everything that Scottie could never be."

 

"A decent human being?" His father mutters under his breath.

 

Harvey shrugs carelessly in response. He says, "She's real."

 

And somehow, they both get it.

 

-

 

Lucky for him, Jessica was requested back on set as an emergency right at the end of dinner. Although he's pretty sure that she had tossed back most of that wine, she's still on the top of her game. Come to think of it, he doesn't think he's ever seen her not at the top of her game. And he realizes that Jessica sets an extremely high standard for women all around.

 

She didn't have to be the best mother the universe has to offer to him or his brother, but she continues to be. And she didn't have to support him and love him and care for him just because he was the kid to the man she married. No, he always felt genuinely cared for by her not just because he was Gordon's kid. She disciplined him without hesitation and gave him those stern talks when they needed to be done and, most of all, she was there when Tracy Abernathy broke his heart in the 9th grade.

 

He really doesn't even understand why his mother even warrants trust issues with women when he's had Jessica to pick up the slack. And Jessica has made his father an extremely happy man. It's almost as though Gordon and Jessica were always destined to be together. And if that's the case, she really wasn't kidding when she repeatedly told him that he and Marcus were bonuses for them - they were little gifts that she thought they would have missed out on if they'd met just a moment sooner. She once told him she felt so lucky to call him her son, and he believed it because she never said anything that she didn't mean (including that time she said she would put him on house arrest if he sneaked out one more time, he was grounded for a month with no ifs ands or buts).

 

He follows behind the extremely happy couple as Gordon kisses Jessica's temple and watches her rush off to set. When he saddles up to his father's side, the lights are shining bright down on a school of people and Harvey really can't even tell who is who anymore. He will never understand this side of show business. That's why he turned down that one commercial they asked him to do a few months ago. It's been 5 years and he's still warming up to photo shoots.

Jessica disappears behind a wall for a few minutes and returns looking like a totally different person. She's two people. Harvey has never personally seen his mother figure in action, but he's absolutely floored.

 

But he hears the woman before he sees her. In fact, her voice is buried deep in the crowd and he can't even see her if he squints. So, he waits patiently for whatever is happening to unfold before he jolts into any kind of action sequence. He's tired by the time someone yells cut so loudly that it almost brings him back to life. And he didn't even do anything except pace in circles and sit in chairs with other people's name on it.

 

He feels himself perk up as her familiar face cuts through the crowd of people. She must see him almost immediately because she starts heading in his direction. His insides swell at the idea that she sees him and might want to be near him. He really likes her. She's going to get him into trouble.

 

"Hey," she greets his father, "Gordon, it's great to see you again."

 

Harvey feels a smile spread across his mouth as his father opens his arms in a wide embrace and Donna steps into them without hesitation. His father never seemed so warm and inviting with Scottie, not even after years of him and Scottie being whatever him and Scottie were. Donna has the approval of everyone, and being with her makes him feel really special. He watches on with his hands buried in his pockets like he's just waiting his turn.

 

"And you," she says, turning her attention to Harvey, "You look handsome."

 

Her hands wrap around his forearms and slide down to his elbows. She smiles widely, and he knows that he has a stupid smile on his face. He takes a quick look at her and notes that her attire today is very different than her attire from the day before. She looks great no matter what.

 

-

 

She's forgetting her lines. She's incredibly distracted by a man who is not her boyfriend, but willingly flew thousands of miles without being asked to just so he could say sorry. And she likes him so much despite the fact that she told herself many times that she shouldn't, that she doesn't even have time for a boyfriend. He makes her feel so giddy inside. And she loves it.

 

Mitchell yells cut, aggressively frustrated. At her, no doubt. But her head is just so cloudy with thoughts of a man who has been in her bed every night for the last 3 nights. Well, not her bed, but in the hotel she's been staying at. Leaving every day has been incredibly difficult. And despite all of this, the moment Mitchell angrily yells for a break, she turns into a school girl.

 

Her usually calm and collected demeanor turns into a bundle of reckless emotion as she breaks out into a near run. Her feet carry her so rapidly that her brain doesn't even have time to catch up. She jumps into his arms and, thankfully, the beautiful man is waiting for her with possibly the largest grin she's ever seen. It's been 3 blissful days and she thinks she's just a fool in love. Every moment with him is absolutely amazing.

 

"You're amazing," he says, like he's reading he thoughts or something. She feels herself blush as the toes of her shoes touch the ground. She tries to tell herself that when he leaves in a few days, it's all going away with him. "You're killing it out there."

 

"I'm not," she disagrees with a light shake of her head, "I'm forgetting my lines. I'm so flustered."

 

"Nah," he says, "My girl is amazing."

 

She feels a warmth in the pit of her stomach at the thought of being his. She's always been a woman who refuses to belong to any man, but there's just something about the way he says it like he's so sure of what he wants. She kisses him and immediately feels his hand against her jaw. His fingers are soft, so soft for a man who uses his hands every day.

 

"Donna," she hears behind her. She reluctantly pulls away. She looks Mitchell square in the eye, her hands still tightly wrapped around the bunched up material of Harvey's shirt around his hips. "Oh, I see."

 

"Mitchell," she says calmly, "This is Harvey."

 

"I know who he is," Mitchell bites, "I just didn't realize you were fucking him, too."

 

"Too?" She repeats. She turns around in front of Harvey, pressing her back against his front like she's trying to keep him from going anywhere. She hasn't known him long, but she knows him to be passionate about everything he cares for. "Mitchell, you and I aren't having a fling."

 

"We just agreed to go public with our relationship," he says. He's full of shit. She's not happy and with every passing second she can tell that Harvey is becoming increasingly angry. "And now you're going behind my back with this guy?"

 

"It's hardly behind your back," Harvey comments with a snort and a smirk.

 

"Harvey," she warns while biting her tongue. A smirk is threatening her own lips. She slaps Harvey's hip lightly before looking at Mitchell again. "I told you I didn't want to fake a relationship with you. I want something real."

 

"You think this guy will give you real?" Mitchell says, "This guy is a player. He can have any woman he wants, why do you think he would settle for you?"

 

"Enough!" Harvey interjects, taking a forceful step around her to close the space between him and Mitchell. "You don't know me. And you certainly don't deserve her."

 

"Me?" Mitchell starts laughing there, "What about you? You were out hitting on some girls just last week."

 

She's stunned. He couldn't call her but he could go hit on some girls. Someone somewhere must have done her a solid and kept her from seeing it. She can't even imagine who would have known about her and Harvey in the first place.

 

"Is this true?" She asks.

 

He hesitates. She doesn't like the hesitation and it's just long enough to really make her mad. She huffs and storms off.

 

-

 

"Donna!" He says while knocking against the door of her trailer.

 

A gust of wind picks up for a nanosecond and it's just enough to make his face sting. At least the other guy looks worse...kind of. Things got out of hand so fast.

 

He pushes the door to her trailer open and lets himself inside. He knows she's in here and she didn't lock it which means she doesn't hate him. He sees her sprawled across the bed, barely breathing. He locks the door and crosses to her. He spreads across the bed beside her.

 

"You can't keep doing this to me, Harvey," she says, "You didn't call but you were taking some girls home?"

 

"I never took them home," he replies. He knows it isn't the point, but he feels like she deserves to know the whole story. "My mom showed up at my house and I didn't want to see her. I went to the bar with some of my teammates and these women kept coming up to me. I didn't even want to be there but I didn't know if my mom was still loitering outside of my apartment."

 

"Harvey," she says, softly and reassuring. He should have called her.

 

He sighs. He says, "I should have called you, but she just makes me so crazy. I think all women are going to do to me what she did to my dad."

 

"Your dad didn't dwell on it, neither should you," she says.

 

She has a point. He knows that there isn't any excuse for why he's got mommy issues. He has Jessica and he's always really considered her a mom. For as long as he can remember she's been the mom he could count on.

 

"You'll just have to forgive me," he says, "Because if you don't, Jessica is going to kick my ass."

 

She looks at him then and he feels a sense of warmth, a reassurance, but the grin that was gracing her features is instantly gone at the sight of him. He realizes that this is the first time she's even looked at him since he entered her trailer.

 

"What the hell happened?" She nearly shrieks.

 

"Words were exchanged. He hit me. I hit him. It was real manly," he admits. He rolls over then, wincing slightly when he applies pressure to his hand. He rests on his back and lifts his hand above his face. "Broke his nose though."

 

"You didn't," she says, low and guttural. She sits upright and gets a closer look at his temple closest to her now. He nods right before she can touch him. When her fingers press against his face, a sting rushes through him. "I've never had anyone fight for my honor before."

 

He shrugs and she leans down to kiss him. When her lips touch his, there's a relentless banging on the door. She smooths her hand over his shoulders and searches for his hand. It stings. He wouldn't be surprised if he broke a knuckle, which is a shame because he needs that hand.

 

"I want him off of my set! Now!"


End file.
